


A Krampus Christmas Carol

by RiaMarie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Gen, Holidays, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Mystery, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective John Winchester, implied vore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2018-03-18 06:02:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3558806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiaMarie/pseuds/RiaMarie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teenchesters Christmas Special! A few over-looked details on a hunt lead to the worst Christmas Eve ever for the youngest Winchester. Includes kidnapped!hurt! Sam and protective!angsty! Dean & John.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> By Ria
> 
> Disclaimer: Obviously, I do not own Supernatural. 
> 
> A/N: Huge thank you going out to to FX’s “The League” for introducing me to this marvelous mythical creature. I have tweaked the legend and attributes a bit to better fit the story. Popping my Teenchesters cherry with this Christmas special. Sam has just turned 16 and Dean is 19/20ish and it’s me, so there will be hurt!kidnapped!Sam. This story is complete and will post in five parts. 
> 
> Beaignu is my awesome beta for this adventure! 
> 
> Silent night,  
> Scary night,  
> Krampus creeps up, to give you fright.  
> You’ve been lazy, naughty, or bad,  
> So he’ll steal you from your mommy and dad.  
> YAY, TACO!  
> *burp*

Northern Minnesota

It was supposed to be a witch; a simple one-bullet job to stop a ritual resulting in as many as twelve missing children every year in northern Minnesota. Even Bobby had confirmed the information and drew the same conclusion: an anti-aging or immortality spell. It began at each Winter Solstice and ended Christmas Eve. Families were left devastated, searching for their missing youngsters who would never be found. The Winchesters were going to put a stop to it tonight.

Just after dusk, John and Dean had located the ramshackle hut where the witch was holed up. They burst into the only room, — the wooden planks around the door handle splintering with John’s powerful kick — but rather than the sacrificial altar they were expecting, they found a roasting pot and an empty spit resting above a roaring fire pit. There were no books or trinkets, no potions or wards. John hated to be wrong, but found himself second guessing the research he’d done earlier that day. They needed to regroup, but tonight was the last night of the cycle. If they didn’t solve the problem now, it would start again next year in a different town. 

After a few minutes, the smell of burned flesh and decay became too overwhelming.  Dean stepped back outside quickly, hoping the fresh air would alleviate the nauseous feeling in his gut. That was when he noticed the tracks. Cloven hoof prints circled the shack, matting the snow. Witches occasionally had pets or familiars, but there were no human footprints at all. John stepped out a few minutes after Dean and studied the impressions, trying to determine what creature made them. He flipped open his cell, but there was no reception to make the call for a second opinion. 

After identifying some fresher looking prints leading into the forest surrounding the shack, father and son moved off in search of the threat. John didn’t want to risk losing the creature and took a gamble that they would have the resources to dispatch it without returning to the car. Luckily, the nearly full moon reflected against the snow and illuminated the area through the bare tree boughs, so there was little need for flashlights. A short distance into the woods a beastly growl caused both hunters to turn quickly. 

It had gotten the drop on them. The humanoid monster, even with its hunched back, towered over them; its lithe but muscular body coated in wiry and sparse black fur against even darker skin. Lengthy goat-like horns jutted out from its thick, dark mane; and its blazing orange irises were split into four even parts by x-shaped pupils. 

“Is that a satyr?” Dean shouted as he jumped back and took a close-range shot at the beast with his Taurus. As the shot rang out, John stepped forward and sliced his silver hunting knife across the creature’s abdomen just below the bullet’s entrance wound. The marks healed instantly and the monster only made an irritated hiss in response to the injuries — both of which should have been deadly. 

“Dean!” John shouted as he turned and took off running to his left. After years of hunting with his father, Dean knew instantly what the order would be and stepped right, taking off at a run in the opposite direction. It was a military tactic his father had drilled into him. Both hunters would eventually double-back to the Impala, but the erratic pattern would hopefully confuse and slow the creature until they were able to rendezvous. Dean glanced over his shoulder while retreating, just in time to see his father’s shadow vanish amongst dark silhouettes of the surrounding tree trunks. He couldn’t see the beast anymore, but drew focus back to his tactical maneuvers in case the creature was still in pursuit.

Now Dean crouched near the base of a thick pine and tried to stay as still as possible atop the frozen snow. His breath frosted in the crisp chill that had settled on this quiet night as his eyes searched the woods, watching for any sign of his father. The car was about twenty yards behind him, just past the thicket. Dean had already grabbed a sawed-off rifle loaded with rock-salt bullets, a bottle of holy water, and a recently sharpened machete. He wasn’t sure what would work, but he was willing to try it all, especially if this thing was on his father’s tail. 

Several minutes passed in complete silence and Dean’s concern grew with each second. John was taking much too long. He was just about to try his cell phone — hoping there would be at least one bar for signal now that they were closer to road — when he heard a crunch in the snow behind him and a hand dropped onto his shoulder. Dean turned, expecting his father because it was rare that any human or even a monster could get the drop on him like his dad.

Dean realized his mistake too late as two strong hands grasped his head, sharp claws digging into his scalp as he was forced to stare up into a pair of demonic eyes. As hard as Dean struggled, he was unable to turn away. The orange and black seemed to swirl together and Dean stilled as his mind became lost in the twisting pattern. 

Time shifted drastically as Dean found himself back in their motel room, earlier today.

“Dammit, Sam. You were supposed to be home two hours ago!” John barked at his youngest son as Dean stepped into the three bedroom apartment and pushed the door shut behind him, sealing out the winter chill. 

“I was doing research and…” Sam countered, but was cut-off.

“I know what you were doing. I told you to come home because I figured out what we’re hunting, and you were supposed to be cleaning and packing the weapons so Dean and I could head out as soon as possible. Now your brother’s home and we’re not ready to go.” John was really hot tempered; he tended to get that way when cases involved missing or hurt children — it hit too close to home. After having been Sam’s primary parent for most of the kid’s life, Dean completely understood the stress and panic at the thought of losing a child. 

Sam could have kept his mouth shut and just done as he was told, but that would go against the stubborn and rebellious attitude he had developed as a teenager. “I don’t think you’re right about this being a witch, Dad.”    

“Just do what I told you, Sam. I’m making a quick supply run. Everything had better be ready to go when I get back. Dean, make sure it’s done.” With that statement, John brushed past his eldest son and disappeared out the door. It was a declaration that the discussion was over, but Sam just dropped his overstuffed backpack to the floor and huffed in frustration.

“Relax, Sammy. This will be over after tonight and we’ll be moving on to the next job.”

“It won’t be done tonight if you guys fail.” Sam argued. “I’m serious. This isn’t a witch. I talked to some kids at the park on the way home — friends and a sibling of some of the missing children — and we don’t have all the facts. He won’t even listen to what I found. You’re going into this blind.”

“Dad knows what he’s doing. He even called Bobby to be sure.” Dean tried to reason with the worked-up teenager.

“What about the soot, huh? How or why would a witch leave that in the kids’ homes? I also found out that the missing children weren’t exactly well-behaved.”

“So maybe the witch has a type, Sam; and the soot could easily have fallen or been blown out of a chimney or fireplace by a breeze.” 

“Even though three of the homes didn’t have a chimney or fireplace? And what about the golden twigs that were found?”

“Calling card? Shit, I don’t know. Why do you have to be so disobedient all the time?” Dean snapped sharply, wanting the discussion to be over. “Let’s get the gear ready so Dad, and I can make it back for at least some of Christmas Eve.”

Sam continued without skipping a beat. “I found another type of creature that it could be. The lore was pretty sparse, but…”

“Enough, Sam!” Dean shouted, immediately regretting his tone of voice. It was so difficult to deal with Sam when he was in the mood to challenge their dad. “Just drop it. Either help me with this or go sulk in your room.”

As Dean turned to face his brother, Sam’s eyes were now cast down to the ground, clearly defeated by the disappointing tone in his older brother’s voice. Dean wasn’t happy about how he had handled the situation; but it was Christmas Eve and he did not want to spend the entire holiday out hunting. He wanted to be home, safe with Sam and Dad, watching crappy Christmas specials and eating leftover Chinese food. 

Sam didn’t say another word, but swiftly cleaned a couple rifles before packing them into John’s duffle bag. 

By the time John returned, Sam was sitting at the kitchen table, looking out at the back lot of the property they had rented for the week. The overcast clouds had cleared, but it didn’t help the light as the sun had just disappeared past the horizon. Dusk was settling fast. John quickly picked up his duffel and motioned for Dean to join him as soon as his eldest exited the bathroom. 

“Sam,” John said in a voice usually reserved for giving military commands. “Make sure to lock the door and check the salt-lines. After your shameful behavior today, I’m expecting an attitude adjustment by the time we return.”

Dean followed after his father obediently, but glanced back at Sam just before closing the door. “Be careful, it’s not a witch.” Dean barely heard his brother’s voice as he pulled the door closed behind him. 

At this point, everything fell black for Dean and all thoughts ceased.

“Hey, son. Wake up,” the voice demanded. Dean groaned, wanting to go back to sleep. “Come on, Dean. We have to go. Now.” This time there was shaking and slap to his cheek. As Dean returned to consciousness, he was met by a pounding headache. He could make out the voice of his father trying to rouse him.

“Dad?  Wha’ happened?” 

John’s face relaxed into a small smile, relieved that his son was finally awake. “That thing moves real fast. Looks like it got you good. How you feelin’?” 

“Like I’ve been roofied by the ugliest chick at the bar.” Dean pulled himself up into a sitting position with John’s help and felt the back of his head, trying to figure out what the stinging sensation was — his hand pulled away with blood on the fingertips and he blinked in surprise.

“You’re alright. I’ve already checked the cuts. I’m sure they hurt like hell but they’re very shallow and should heal quickly.”

Dean nodded and realized they were still under the pine tree. “So what did happen? All I remember is that thing grabbing me. Then, it was like I was reliving this afternoon. You had that fight with Sam, then we packed up the gun bags before leaving. Was I dreaming?” 

John tried not to let his dismay show on his face, he had also been attacked by the creature with the same scene replayed through his mind before he had awoken on the ground. Not wanting to alarm Dean, John replied, “I’m not sure. It may have telepathic powers. Let’s get back to the house and see if we can figure out how to kill this thing before it disappears.” And back to check on Sam, he thought as his gut started twisting — a sudden irrefutable sense of urgency tightened his nerves. He helped to hoist Dean up from the snow and the two swiftly made their way back to the Impala.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam tossed his book onto the faded comforter and leaned back against his headboard, glancing at the glaring red numbers on the alarm clock: 9:00 p.m. So much for being a quick and easy job. He closed his eyes and tried to relax, hoping his dad and Dean would be home soon — that they weren’t laying in a ditch somewhere, dead because it wasn’t a witch they were hunting.

Several quiet minutes later, Sam jumped slightly when he heard a few faint thumps down the hall. He must have dozed off because the clock now read 9:40. He assumed Dad and Dean had just gotten home. About time too, since A Christmas Story was supposed to start at 10 and Dean watched it with him every year.

Sam could feel a chill in the air and decided to pull on a pair of socks before joining his family in the other room. He was really hoping for new pajama pants and sweats this year since his latest growth spurt had left the inseam of Dean’s hand-me-downs a good inch above his ankles. He smiled at the thought of possibly being taller than his older brother within the next few years.

Making his way down the hall, Sam noticed the odd silence that seemed to have overtaken the house. Dean was normally full of adrenaline after the hunt and it was damn near impossible to get him to shut up. Sam stopped just short of the small family room, still out of line of sight, and listened intently.

A slow, heavy breathing filled the space and Sam could also hear a strange scratching sound, like rock scraping over the polished wood floors. He stepped back and into his brother’s room which was luckily right next to the living room. He swiped Dean’s hunting knife from under the pillow and returned to the hallway, ready to defend himself if needed. 

This time, Sam chanced peeking around the corner to identify the threat. The beast stared back at him, no surprise on its features, as though it had just been waiting for Sam to come out from his room. Its monstrous size was magnified by the smallness of their family room. It gave a sinister smile as its burning eyes focused on the poised blade in Sam’s hand. 

“Naughty boy should not steal big brother’s toy.” The nasally tenor was eerie in it’s song-like rhyme. The monster’s grin turned into a sneer as it raised a braided whip and lashed out toward Sam. The knife clattered to the floor as Sam jumped back, cradling his now bleeding hand against his chest. His phone… it was back in his bedroom. 

Sam heard the hooves scrape and stomp against the floor behind him, much louder now, as the beast moved forward in pursuit. He dashed into his room and slammed the door closed, pushing the nearest dresser against it as a barricade. Lunging onto the bed for his phone, Sam stopped a moment, realizing that the clomping in the hall had stopped. The door and dresser remained still — maybe, the beast had left.

He was just about to dial out to his dad when the heavy, inhuman breathing returned, only this time it was within his room, directly behind him. Sam whirled and kicked out, catching the beast’s lower abdomen. It was like connecting with a brick wall as Sam’s momentum bounced him back and the monster was unfazed. 

The whip appeared again, this time catching Sam across his chest and slashing through his light cotton tee. The sudden, sharp pain took him by surprise as he stumbled back toward the far wall. He glanced at the door to strategize an escape route; but his swiftly made barricade was undisturbed and now worked against him, leaving him trapped with the monster. 

The monster reached out with unexpected speed and precision, clamping its grotesque hand around Sam’s throat. It hauled the boy a few feet off the ground before slamming his back against the wall. The drywall cracked and showered Sam with dust particles and chipped paint. The impact left Sam momentarily stunned as the beast further crowded his personal space.

“Naughty, naughty boy talks back, now ‘tis your voice you will lack.” Sam shuddered involuntarily at the creepy voice, his skin prickling in response. The beast was a mere few inches from Sam’s face and he squirmed at the putrid smell on its breath. From behind a set of crooked and pointy teeth, a serpent-like tongue emerged. Sam gasped at the sight while the creature used its other hand to pinch Sam’s cheeks, effectively trapped his jaw open. The purplish tongue wasted no time and slid right into Sam’s mouth, finding little resistance as it worked its way into the boy’s esophagus.  

Sam gagged against the intrusion, trying to cough out the foreign appendage. What was at first an extremely uncomfortable violation, turned into a weird tingling sensation, and then his throat felt like it was on fire. Sam choked in panic, trying to twist out of the beast’s grip. By the time the monster withdrew its tongue, Sam could only focus on the pain radiating from within his neck. 

The creature seemed to realize that Sam’s pain sensors were on overdrive because it released its grip, watching as the teenager crumpled to the floor. 

The beast’s sinister grin returned as it slipped the large sack from its shoulder and removed a few coils of thick rope. It used one of its massive hoofs to pin Sam to the ground, stomach down, and chuckled when the teen grunted in response to the monster’s pressing weight, barely able to breathe.

Bringing its whip down on Sam’s unprotected back a few times, just for additional punishment, the beast then ripped off what was left of the tattered shirt. To Sam’s credit, he didn’t once scream or call out for help; only clenched his jaw and waited stroke after stroke for the pain to stop. The monster cinched Sam’s wrists and elbows together behind the teen’s back with the coarse rope. It did the same with the kid’s knees and ankles, bending the legs back to secure the limbs into a hogtie. Despite the pain he was in, Sam struggled and squirmed the entire time, but nothing seemed to impede the beast.

Aside from Sam’s frantic gasps for air, the house was now quiet and it came as a surprise to both human and monster when the old, wooden planks of the front porch groaned in distress as two sets of heavy feet ascended toward the front door.

“DAD! DEAN!” Sam attempted to call for his family, but he was surprised to find that no sound came out. He coughed against the acidic coating inside his throat and tried again — same result. 

The beast leaned in close, whispering “Now you must away with me, such a tasty treat you shall be.” This time, the meaning was not lost on Sam as he started mouthing the word ‘no’ over and over again until a couple unbidden tears slipped from the corners of his eyes.

Opening his sack wide as it lay flat on the floor, the creature hauled Sam up by his shaggy locks and positioned him over the bag. The last thing Sam saw before the cloth was fastened over his head were the feral, hungry eyes of the monster. 

“Sam! We’re home!” A voice called as the main door clacked shut. The beast looked at the barricaded bedroom door and smiled in triumph as it flung the now full sack over one shoulder and vanished into the air.


	3. Chapter 3

“Sammy?” Dean called out again, worry gnawing at his gut each time he hadn’t received a response. As he passed by the family room, he noticed some odd powdery substance coating the wood floor of the family room.

John had dashed straight back to Sam’s room and was startled when he found he couldn’t push the door open.

“Dad,” Dean came up behind the eldest Winchester, “There’s soot on the floor in the main room and some of it was dragged into the hallway… What are you doing?”

John paused from ramming his shoulder into the door and answered, “Trying to get into your brother’s room. There’s something blocking the door.”He took a step back and tried kicking it in, but the door only rattled in its frame. “Help me Dean, we’ll hit it together. One, two, three.”

The hunters barreled into the room as the furniture blocking the door crashed to the ground. They stepped around the wreckage of splintered wood and tousled clothes, eyes drawn to the blood splatter coating the far corner wall. There were also several red stains dotting the comforter and the thin carpeting in that corner. John nearly tripped on Sam’s discarded phone — it was flipped open with John’s number displayed on the screen. 

Dean reached out to pick up a unfamiliar, golden twig from the corner of the bed, twirling it numbly in his fingers as his brain processed what had happened. He felt a familiar rage starting to boil in the pit of his stomach — a specific kind of vengeance that was typically reserved just for assholes who dared go after his baby brother.

“What were you saying about soot?” John interjected Dean’s thoughts.

It took Dean a moment to respond, “Um yeah, soot in the living room. Sam was trying to tell me — us — earlier that soot had been found in all the houses, even those without fireplaces. He also said all the missing kids had recent behavioral problems.”

“Sam said he was late because he was doing further research on what we were hunting.” John commented and then ordered, “Find your brother’s notebook. Maybe he found out what this thing is and how to stop it.” 

They both frantically searched Sam’s bedroom but came up empty handed. Dean moved to the kitchen while John checked the family room. 

“I got it!” Dean called after a few minutes. He joined his father in the living room as they flipped back to the most recent pages. “God, it’s all here. Why the hell didn’t we listen to him?” Dean stood up in anger and kicked out, destroying a small end table with his frustration.

“Calm down, Dean. A tantrum won’t help us find your brother.” John sat quietly for a few minutes, digesting the information Sam had recorded and then spoke, “Krampus is the most recognized name for it. It’s also referred to as the Yule Lord. Legend has it the beast accompanies Santa Claus. While the latter rewards children for good behavior, Krampus punishes children who are lazy, disrespectful, or disobedient.”

“That would explain the trip down memory lane. It was pulling info about Sam’s behavior.” Dean remarked.

“So it’s telepathic,” John continued, “I think, based on how it moved in the woods, it also has the ability to teleport, which would explain why we had to break into Sam’s room. He probably locked himself in and ended up trapped with the beast. The traces of soot are here too, as is the golden twig which was meant, in old times, to be payment for the child’s soul. Krampus would then either beat the child to death or devour it.”

“But Sam isn’t a child. He’s sixteen.” Dean interrupted.

“Maybe not in the Alpine Germanic cultures where the story originated, but by today’s standards in the United States, Sam isn’t considered an adult until eighteen. That also explains the wide age differences among the other missing kids.” John paused a moment before continuing, “There’s also a variation of the story where Krampus takes an earthly form the night of Yule, the Winter Solstice, to complete his yearly task of punishment and is then driven back to Hell by Saint Nicholas on Christmas Eve.”

“Does it say how to kill it?”

“No,” John’s tone sounded defeated, but only for a moment. “We’ll try everything though — the whole arsenal. Whatever works. We’re getting Sam back.”

 

*** SPN SPN SPN SPN ***

Sam’s stomach lurched from vertigo when the bag he’d been sealed in was tossed onto something still and sturdy — a table maybe. The more he moved or tried to struggle, the worse the coarse ropes scratched at the welts on his back. His limbs, shoulders, and lower spine were also starting to cramp from the restrictive bonds. During their journey back to the beast’s lair, he found he was able to make small, quiet noises, but speech was completely out of the question — the thing might as well have gagged him. Worse still was, even if he somehow managed to survive this ordeal, he had no way of knowing if his voice would ever come back.

The creature undid the rope sealing the bag and slid it down, off of his bound captive. Sam glared at the orange eyes, trying not to show the fear paralyzing his heart. The beast gave a throaty laugh, “Oh so brave for one so small, your feast will be the best of all.” 

Krampus then severed the rope holding Sam in a hogtie and picked up the teenager. The beast suspended Sam from his feet by a hook attached to the ceiling, the ropes still keeping his limbs strapped tight together. Once his rocking motion stopped, Sam was able to survey the small room. 

The space was dark and cold, but he could see sparks generating as the beast started a fire. Within seconds, the blaze was roaring, illuminating and heating the entire shack. Sam’s heart thundered in his chest as he surveyed the piles of bones lined against the walls. It wasn’t hard to guess the purpose for the cauldron next to the pit or the long, metal spit perched over the flames.

“A stew I think, for you.” Krampus grinned stepping over to Sam again and running his sharp claws across the teen’s exposed abdomen. 

Sam wiggled in response, gasping in pain each time the creature’s touch caused his already frayed nerves to jump. Krampus appeared to find this incredibly amusing and started poking, prodding, and scraping Sam’s torso, concentrating on areas that were more ticklish than others. Little red scratches appeared on the boy’s irritated skin, marking each path the claws took. 

Krampus only stopped when he remembered his time was limited on this night. He began tossing various gathered vegetables and fruits into the pot. The broth it already contained was a combination of remnants from the previous meals he had enjoyed this Solstice. Of all the ingredients, the only one that looked remotely edible, aside from Sam, was a shiny red apple.

With a ravenous look, Krampus crept up to Sam again, still clutching the apple. Sam knew immediately what the monster intended to do and clamped his mouth shut. The creature raked its nails over the skin at Sam’s side while digging a clawed thumb into the edge of a cut from the whip. Sam would have screamed loudly if not for the poison still work at his throat. Not much sound came out, but it had the desired effect as Krampus took hold of the boys lower jaw and shoved the fruit in as far as it would go. As soon as the monster’s hold left, Sam’s teeth sunk deeply into the apple. The teen worked his jaw but was unable to open his mouth wide enough to spit out the obstruction.

After sizing Sam up for a brief moment, the monster moved over to the cauldron and stirred its contents with a large wooden spoon while taking in the aroma. “Almost time for us to dine.”


	4. Chapter 4

The Impala came to a skidding halt on the roadside overlooking the forested valley where the hut had been found. Dean was packing about every possible weapon he could find in the trunk. John didn’t have quite as much ammo, but he was also carrying more weapons than usual. They hurried through the forest until the clearing came into view and revealed the small, dilapidated shack. It was dark and silent.

“How could we be so stupid? Of course it wouldn’t bring him to a hide out we’ve already discovered.” Dean kicked at the ground, tossing up a mix of dirt clumps and snow.

“There’s another hut out here. I came across it earlier after we split up. It’s probably moved to that location. Follow me,” John instructed, moving off into the brush.

Fear that time was running out fueled their speed through the woods. The trek was taking longer than expected and with each step, the chance of finding Sam alive decreased. Dean was obviously feeling angry and helpless about the situation, but guilt was also eating at him. If he had just listened to Sam earlier rather than brushing his kid brother off, this may not have happened. It was also his memories and emotions that condemned Sammy as the next target.

John was also experiencing his share of guilt. Sam could be stubborn and downright impossible at times, but he would never steer his family in the wrong direction. All the small clues Sam had picked up on, John had dismissed as irrelevant or coincidental, and now it may cost him the life of his youngest son.

As they neared the hut, John signaled for Dean to slow down — they would want more silence and stealth on the final approach.

Hunter instinct took over as they separated when the shack came into view, each hunter taking their position on opposite sides of the building. It was clear by the orange glow emanating from between the exterior wood planks and the crackling sounds within that this location was occupied.  

Dean peeked through the planks and could make out the beast’s tall, hairy form leaning over what looked like a massive cooking pot. His inability to see his brother nearly caused him to panic. He closed his eyes and took a deep, silent breath to keep the rage at bay. If he was discovered now, they might all die tonight. 

From his vantage point, John could see Sam dangling in the far corner of the shack. His boy’s eyes were fixated on the beast and filled with fear, but at least Sam was still alive. This hunt had gone so poorly, he’d take any miracles he could. 

John watched as Krampus moved back into Sam’s corner, a large knife appearing in its hand. The blade looked vaguely familiar, but John didn’t have much time to consider where he’d seen it as the monster reached up to Sam’s bound feet and pull off both socks. It discarded the fabric and moved the blade up to the teen’s pant leg. Krampus cut carefully between each rope segment along the outer seem, nicking Sam’s skin every few inches or so and enjoying each pain-filled sound the child made. 

Of course, John and Dean also happened to be close enough to hear each mew and grunt from the hurting boy and, even though Dean couldn’t see his brother, those barely audible sounds tore at his soul. Apparently, his father had felt the same urgency to rescue Sam as both older Winchesters met at the shack’s only entrance. The door shattered off its hinges as Dean kicked out, and the beast whirled in surprise at the intruders. John ducked into the room quickly while Dean covered him.

Dean instantly recognized his hunting knife clenched in the beast’s hand; and a snarl-like sound left his throat at the thought of his own blade being turned on his little brother. “That’s mine, you ugly son of a Bitch!” he growled before firing four silver bullets at point blank range. 

The beast barely had time to stumble back before John’s rock salt caps struck its chest. Again, the bullets had little effect. Dean went for the holy water next, getting close enough to drench the beast while it was still off balance, and then jumped back, dropping the now empty flask. Krampus hissed, but there was little to no physical damage. 

“We’re running out of options. Try decapitating it,” John remarked as he moved to a flanking position opposite Dean. The younger Winchester nodded his acknowledgement as he adjusted his grip on the machete and dropped his center of balance. Both hunters moved in simultaneously for the close-range kill

Krampus had had enough of these futile attempts to dispatch him and shrieked in anger, “I have paid the bill, now I shall eat my fill!” The creature swung out at an arc with one of its powerful arms and knocked Dean back to the opposite wall. The younger hunter sank to the floor, momentarily dazed. 

“Dean!” John shouted. He risked glancing away from the enemy to make sure his son was still conscious. Krampus took this moment of distraction to reach out with both hands and knock the older man away. The blade within its hand sliced John’s shoulder as the hunter was thrown back into the wall. The impact was so powerful, the wooden wall cracked; and the whole structure lurched as if the frame might collapse. John‘s eyes rolled up in his head and he was out cold before he hit the ground.

Krampus cackled maniacally and unhooked a clump of metal links that had been strung to the back of its belt. It thrust the chain in Dean’s direction and gave a satisfied smirk as the links coiled around the younger man’s neck, tightening every time the hunter attempted to get up or move toward his brother. 

“Alive you shall stay to watch your brother’s soul be whisked away.” 

Dean struggled with the tight chain as Krampus turned back to Sam. The beast paused a moment, as if sensing something in the air. Dean was hoping his father had come round but a glimpse in his dad’s direction dashed that hope.

“Time is growing near, this is my final meal of the year,” Krampus sang wistfully and went back to his task, lifting Sam off the hook and carrying the teen toward the now boiling soup. Sam struggled with every ounce of strength he had and tried to roll back in the beast’s arms as it held him directly in the steam. He could already feel the broiling heat coming off the surface of the broth.  

“NO! Sammy!” Dean screamed and was nearly choked out as he lunged forward, desperate to stop what the monster intended to do with his baby brother.

Krampus stopped and jerked back suddenly, holding Sam possessively. There was a faint sound on the air and the monster dropped its meal to the floor, completely forgetting the child as this noise grew closer. The creature clamped both large hands against its pointed ears, trying to ease the pain assaulting them. 

Sam had grunted softly when his bound shoulder drove into the floor, but now lay completely still, facing away from Dean. With the monster distracted, Dean took a chance at moving again and found the chain had lost its deadly hold on his neck. He unwrapped the links quickly and scrambled to a corner of the room, pulling Sam with him — as far away from the beast as they could possibly get in the cramped area. 

Sam’s eyes were closed tight. His pulse, although slightly elevated, was still present. Dean swiftly removed the apple from Sam’s mouth partly because he wanted the kid to get as much air as possible, and partly because it made his baby brother look like a stuffed pig at a luau.  

The beast shrieked again and crouched even lower as the strange sound continued to increase in volume. Sam’s eyes fluttered open slightly, curious as to what was happening. Dean caught his brother’s gaze and responded, “It’s okay Sammy. Just relax, everything is gonna be fine.”

Sam nodded, feeling reassured by his brother’s words. The sound rang louder — rang like the sound of bells. Jingle bells to be exact. Moments later, there was a muffled thump on the roof, as if something landed upon the unsteady shack. No… it can’t be. Santa? Sam wondered with a spark of hope he hadn’t felt since he was seven years old and the boys on the school bus told him the jolly man didn’t exist.

The beast was near wailing in response to the the racket as the bells were at their loudest, directly above the four occupants. Krampus looked miserable and angry as he started to fade out of existence. He turned enraged eyes toward the two youngest Winchesters. He had never left his work unfinished and it was the fault of these brats. He glared menacingly at the boys and vowed revenge, knowing he would arise again to continue his work next Yule.

Dean watched as Krampus’s image flickered out completely with an audible snap and then everything was still. No monster, no jingle bells, no fire — just the tiny Winchester family. He heard their father moan as he was coming back to consciousness; and Dean knew he should go check his dad’s injuries, but couldn’t bring himself to leave Sam. He cradled the kid against his chest, just like he did when they were both still small and Sammy needed his big brother to chase away the nightmares. Watching his baby brother nearly become an entrée had horrified Dean in a way he never thought possible; and he was suddenly desperate to get out of the dark shack. 

Dean retrieved his hunting knife and pulled the emergency flashlight from his boot to begin sawing at Sam’s bindings. The ropes fell away one by one, having been knotted so tightly that Sam’s skin was covered in abrasions at each cinch. He ran his fingers very lightly over the bruised skin, taking great care not cause his brother any further distress while he assessed the damage. 

As Dean rubbed his brother’s hands and arms to help work circulation back into the limbs, it occurred to him that Sam wasn’t wearing his shirt or socks. With the fire extinguished, a chill was rapidly creeping into the room and he looked around frantically for something to cover his brother. There was nothing unsoiled in the shack, so he took off his coat and wrapped it around Sam’s shaking shoulders.

Dean found it extremely unsettling that Sam hadn’t said a word the whole time. Maybe he’s in shock. Dean thought, hoping there wasn’t a more grave reason for the silence.

John slowly sat up and assessed the situation, thankful the threat was now gone. He had observed Dean taking care of Sam and a feeling of pride swelled in his chest. Despite the throbbing pain from the shallow gash in his left shoulder, he realized he could breathe easier now that both his children were safe. He cleared his throat, capturing Dean’s attention. “Glad to see we’re all still in one piece,“ he commented gruffly, but with obvious love in his voice, “I expect a full report as soon as we’re all warm and safe.”

“Yes sir,” Dean replied with a relieved smile, feeling calmer now that his dad was awake and back in charge.


	5. Chapter 5

The struggle back to the car seemed to take an achingly long time. Dean had carried Sam piggy-back style for about half the trudge before pain and exhaustion finally took hold of the youngest Winchester, and he was no longer aware enough to hold his own weight. Not wanting to aggravate his brother’s lacerated back, Dean had tipped the kid over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. John had offered to help of course, but Dean declined, insisting his father take it easy after the knock to the head and the slash on his shoulder.

When they did finally make it back to the car, Dean opted to stay with his brother in the back rather than take his usual seat at shotgun. With John’s help, they managed to maneuver Sam onto his side, facing the seat so his back wouldn’t come into contact with the worn leather. Dean crawled into the car and cradled Sam’s head protectively in his lap while threading his fingers through the shaggy brown locks.   

The Impala roared to life with the heat on full blast for the lengthy drive to the next motel. John had briefly discussed returning to the rented house, but Dean had vetoed that idea immediately. Sam had been traumatized enough without returning to the place where he was attacked — his blood still staining the walls and bedding. John saw the logic in that and drove on through half the night, pulling up to a motel around 3am.

Although Sam had grimaced in pain every time the Impala struck a bump or pothole, he seemed to be resting comfortably through most of the trip. Dean watched the dark scenery fly past the passenger side of the car and reflected on how wrong this hunt had gone. He also thought forward to the morning. It was just another horrible Christmas in a long history of crappy holidays for the Winchesters. He wanted so badly to make this year a good memory for Sam, but had failed miserably. 

John told Dean he was going to make a run back to the house to clear out their things and would be back in the morning. Dean was too exhausted to really care at that point, so John left as soon as the boys were checked into the motel.

Sam was awake enough by that time to walk inside without too much help. He removed Dean’s coat and fell forward on the bed farthest from the door, ready to sleep. Well, that was until Dean finally got a good look at the lacerated skin on Sam’s back and scolded him for not reporting how serious it was. The pain had to be excruciating. It took nearly an hour to clean and disinfect the various sized welts. 

“How’s that feel kiddo?” Dean asked once he’d applied the last bandage. Sam said nothing in response, but was clearly awake — eyes wide open and head turned to the side as he rested on his stomach. Dean saw a tear works its way from the corner of Sam’s eye, around his nose, and onto the blanket beneath him. “Sammy?”

Sam pointed out to the nightstand between the two beds at the pad of paper with the motel letterhead and personalized pen. Dean handed the items to his brother and waited patiently as Sam wrote, an uneasy feeling gripping his chest. Sam handed the pad back to Dean. 

Poison I think. Took my voice away. 

Dean paused for a moment, at a complete loss for what to do. He thought back to the basics and retrieved a flask from his duffel bag. “Drink this Sam. It’s holy water — might help to wash away the toxin.”

Sam took the offered drink with some hesitation. He had seen the painful sensation the substance had on some types of supernatural creatures and wasn’t exactly anxious to experience it first hand. After some encouragement from Dean, Sam took a long swig and rinsed it around his mouth before swallowing. The liquid felt like it got about halfway down his throat before he coughed it back up. There was no pain, he just wasn’t able to swallow it — like something was blocking the pipe, but his breathing was just fine. Dean handed him a flavored sports drink and got the same result.

“I’m not sure what to do, Sam. We’ll have to wait for Dad to get back. I’m sure he’ll know what to do.” Dean tried to reassure his brother, but Sam wasn’t as optimistic. He scribbled some more words onto the paper.

What if this is permanent?

Dean took a deep breath. He didn’t really have an answer for that and responded tiredly, “Don’t think like that. We will figure this out. For now, let’s get some sleep. You look like you nearly died tonight.” Dean grinned as Sam flipped him the bird before climbing beneath his covers, careful not to disturb the injuries Dean had patched.

Dean habitually salted the door and windows and double-checked the heater setting before changing into a tee and sweats. He looked at Sam’s sleeping form and just knew that tonight was going to be wrought with nightmares for the kid. Dean settled himself atop the comforter next to his brother and drifted to sleep within minutes.

 

*** SPN SPN SPN SPN ***

When Sam awoke the next day, the first thing he noticed was his dad’s form nestled beneath the covers of the bed next to him. Beyond that though, was a sparkly glimmer and warm, comforting glow. He lifted his head from the pillow curiously.

A small decorated Christmas tree was sitting on the table next to the window. Below it rested several packages of various shapes and sizes, including the two presents that were wrapped in old newspaper clippings, addressed to Dad and Dean. Sam had scrimped and saved for months to get those and couldn’t believe his father had found them in his room. When Krampus had taken him, he hadn’t thought he’d ever see those again — or his brother and father for that matter.  

As soon as Sam went to get up, he realized his brother’s arm had been thrown across his side. For someone so against chick-flick moments, he sure did snuggle like a girl. Sam snickered and pushed the arm aside. He stood shakily and stumbled to the bathroom. He was still in a lot of pain and hoped the quivering in his limbs would end soon. When he emerged, he noticed that Dean was up and looking back at him from next to the tree.

“Heya, Sammy. How you feeling today?” Dean wanted to eat the words as soon as he said them, until Sam’s automated response reached his ears.

“Fine.” Sam’s hands flew up to his throat in surprise. Although scratchy and weak, his voice had returned and the constant ache that had enveloped his esophagus was gone. He grabbed the open sports drink from the night before was able to swallow successfully. He drained the whole bottle and Dean could only laugh at the relief on his brother’s face. 

“What’s with all the racket?” John’s voice grumbled from beneath a pillow. There was a pause. “It’s the middle of the afternoon, people are trying to sleep.”

“Merry Christmas to you too, Grinch.” Dean chirped. “If you were gonna bitch, why’d you get us a tree?”

John shot up from the covers with a speed Dean didn’t know his father possessed as the older man looked suspiciously at the decorations. “You boys didn’t do that last night?”

“Uh… no.” Dean responded with a raised eyebrow and took a quick, subconscious step back from the tree and gifts.

“Its a Christmas miracle.” Sam mumbled, suddenly feeling quite stupid for having said it aloud. 

John looked at youngest in surprise before remembering what Dean had told him last night about how the encounter with Krampus ended. “You really do think Santa saved you, don’t you Sam?”  

“Yes, sir.” Sam replied honestly, feeling a good decade younger.

John’s forehead furrowed in concern, his paranoia wanting to take over the situation. His first thought was to burn the tree and presents, and drive his family as far from here as possible. There were several tense minutes of silence as John got up to check the door lock and all the salt lines. Everything was secure, and yet, here was this unexpected display of holiday spirit. 

“Dad?” Dean asked hesitantly, knowing that they were probably going to bolt and end up spending Christmas on the road.

As John turned back from glancing out the window, a warm, comforting feeling of safety flooded through his veins. He couldn’t deny the feelings of unease, but something deep within was loosening the tension and encouraging him that this was okay. The memory of last night’s dream replayed through his mind — his and Mary’s first Christmas — and he remembered the joy, happiness, and love they experienced. It was then that he knew, this was a miracle.   

“How about… just this once, we won’t question it.” John’s smile broadened as Dean and Sam looked at him with shocked expressions. “Alright boys, let’s open some presents.” 

Happy Ending and Merry Krampus to everyone!    ^_^


End file.
